Smoke

Composed 5/15/13
Description: A personal piece based on recent events and revelations. I ended up experimenting a little more with symbolism in this one. It will be interesting to see what you all think of it!

I sit next to my cinnamon tornado
Less thunderous now that I’m not coating him
In my usual mix of hot and cold
Though the console’s stockpile of
Fragrant tobacco might be
The origin of his placid breeze

We’re separated by all that
Smoke
Evidenced by his words
Like agnostic and don’t give a shit
And drunk
And though cinnamon is fine
Delicious
In small doses
I know I could never tolerate a mouthful

But through all that smoke
Between us
I still see him
Depression and laughter and
Brilliance and madness
All that debris
Twisting around inside him

Perhaps, come winter,
There will be less tobacco
Less wind
Less cinnamon
Less smoke

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